


Absence

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 09:46:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Thranduil isn’t pleased at the prospect of Legolas’ departure.





	Absence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aprilreign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprilreign/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for aprilriegn’s “4. “Walk out that door and we’re through” Thrandolas: Legolas is fed up with his ada's smothering. He needs space. He informs Thranduil he's leaving for Lothlorien. Thrandy is not having it. He threatens him not to walk away, seducing him is not working, until his quiet pleading finally moves Legolas to give him something to remember him by while he's gone. Prompt #4, M rating, angst, humor(possibly), blowjob.” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/160417565360/prompt-list). Shrunk and altered to fit the rules again.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

His blood runs cold. He mouths a hollow, “ _What?_ ” Though he heard perfectly well the first time. He still hopes for a different outcome.

Instead, Legolas tells him, “It will not be forever.” It’s all Thranduil can do not to wince. “I just need some space for now—”

Thranduil cuts in to hiss, “If you want space—”

But Legolas counters just a quickly, “Not from you.” He holds Thranduil’s gaze steady, eyes as cold and blue as his fathers. They’ve been equally as strong for centuries, although this is one of the few times Thranduil’s truly _felt_ it. He feels stiff and tense and unusually ill at ease in his own home. In his private quarters, Legolas lets out a tired sigh and shakes his head, dropping it, to explain, “From your reign. From everything. I feel... smothered... in these woods. It is not just your expectations of me, but of others.”

“If this is about Tauriel—”

“It does not matter, Ada. I have always wished to see my brethren in Lothlórien, and now Estel has invited me, and it is the perfect chance to go. You act as though I will never return. It is merely a simple visit...”

“You are a prince,” Thranduil seethes, each word steeping his fury higher. First Tauriel, then the Dúnedain—he’s never free of others wanting his most treasured gem. He doesn’t blame them, and he tries not to hoard his son for himself, tries not to _stifle_ his darling heir, but Legolas makes it difficult. When Thranduil gives distance, he’s _too_ distant. When he tries to follow Mithrandir’s advice and show more warmth, Legolas goes running for the south. Thranduil bitterly insists, “You cannot just _leave_.”

“I can while my king is strong and healthy,” Legolas answers just as sternly. He seems strangely tall for it, more powerful than usual, though he reached his maturity long ago. It seems he’s soaked up more of his father than would sit comfortably in Thranduil’s chest. When Thranduil doesn’t reply, Legolas quietly adds, “But my king may forbid me, if he wishes.”

Thranduil has half a mind to banish Legolas from his quarters right now for the insolence. For testing him. He’s never _forced_ Legolas to do anything, and he won’t start now, won’t cage his heir like some broken bird. The mere suggestion is sobering.

He tries to clear his mind. He tries to calm himself, as his advisors would tell him if they were here—sometimes, Legolas riles him nearly as much as a dwarf would. When Thranduil thinks he has himself better in control, he takes a step forward. Another, and then he’s right before Legolas, pleased that Legolas at least doesn’t pull away. He lifts a hand to Legolas’ side, as though going in for an embrace, but neither of them moves that far. Instead, he tenderly cups Legolas’ hip, and he draws slowly up Legolas’ slender form, pressing right through the silver robes.

Legolas’ breath hitches, his eyes sparking fire. Holding them fast, Thranduil purrs, “There are pleasures here you will miss, ion nín. None in Lothlórien can do for you as I will.”

Still watching him, Legolas admits, “I know.” Thranduil almost smirks, thinking of victory from the adoration in Legolas’ eyes, except Legolas finishes, “But I do not go for that, and you will not seduce me out of this. I will be a king some day, and then I will not have the chance, and I will have known no kings but you. I would go see other lords. I will go. If you love me as you claim, you will grant me that.”

Thranduil is struck frozen again. Legolas slips deftly out of his grasp, turning for the door. Thranduil is full of raging _love_ that Legolas couldn’t possibly understand. He’s old, yes, but not _old_ the way Thranduil is—he hasn’t seen all the horrors that lie beyond their borders. He doesn’t know the evil that lies south. And the thought of Legolas waltzing into that brings Thranduil to growl, just as Legolas has reached the handle, “You walk out that door, and we are through.” It’s his last resort.

It works. Legolas stops, turning to glance over his shoulder with wide eyes. He whispers, “You cannot mean that.”

Thranduil promises, “I can, and I do.” Then, in a fit of cruelty, he presses home: “What use do I have for a lover that would leave me so?”

Legolas grimaces. His beautiful face is abruptly marred in turmoil, his surety finally shattered. Thranduil feels no regrets for it, not if it keeps Legolas here and _safe_. There’s no way south that isn’t wrought with peril. And even if he sent every last one of his guards with Legolas, it wouldn’t alleviate his own sense of loss.

Then Legolas speaks the other part Thranduil’s left unspoken, that he’d tried not to give life to. Legolas murmurs, “I am not your adar. I do not ride to war, and I _will_ return.”

Finally, Thranduil is too shaken to speak. A thousand fears suddenly rise in him, warped but not dulled over time, of horrid memories and the _emptiness_ that still hasn’t quite managed to heal. Legolas came the closest. Legolas takes in the shell-shocked look on Thranduil’s face and seems to understand that he went too far.

He comes forward again, abandoning the door, to drift right into Thranduil’s arms. He presses a warm, lasting kiss to Thranduil’s cheek and repeats, “I will return.” 

Thranduil still feels cold. The words are poor compensation. Legolas seems to see that, because he kisses Thranduil’s lips next, more chaste than usual, and then pecks the side of Thranduil’s jaw. He moves down to Thranduil’s shoulder and begins to sink gracefully to his knees, where he sits at Thranduil’s feet to nuzzle wantonly against Thranduil’s crotch: both loyal subject and dedicated partner. Even that doesn’t fix things, though Thranduil can’t help snapping to life. Legolas mouths at the bulge that automatically rises to meet him, and he glances up through thick lashes to purr, “I will stay here tonight, I think, and at least give you something to remember me by.”

Thranduil dryly returns, “I would prefer more permanent company.”

But Legolas lifts one brow, as bold as his father, and bargains, “It will be my mouth or nothing.” 

So Thranduil sighs and nods and vows to savour what he can, knowing that once it’s done and Legolas is gone, nothing else will fulfill him until his little leaf’s returned.


End file.
